


Time away from home

by Shookspeare



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canada, Drinking, F/M, Family Shenanigans, Farmer's Market, Fishing, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hockey, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Shopping, Vacation, Vic just wants to have his wedding, very very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shookspeare/pseuds/Shookspeare
Summary: "Of all the things Victor had in mind for the off-season, sitting on a plane headed to Canada was not one of them."Victor and Yuuri spend a weekend in Montreal with everyone's (not so) favorite Canadian skater. Shenanigans ensure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this for a while and now im finally publishing it yay! I used [this post](https://fukiko.tumblr.com/post/157317546135/tag-yourself-background-randos-from-episode-11) on tumblr as a reference on naming the leroy fam so go check that out

Of all the things Victor had in mind for the off-season, sitting on a plane headed to Canada was not one of them. In fact, the only thing he'd wished to dedicate his time to during the off-season was training for his comeback for the upcoming competitive season and, of course, wedding planning. However, his plans were thwarted when Yuuri had volunteered the two of them to spend a week in Montreal.

  
  
  


The sun slowly rises over the horizon while Victor rests his head against the lumpy plane pillow. He'd hoped that his third mimosa would help to get him to sleep, but the turbulence of the plane was proving otherwise. Grumbling, he waves the stewardess over for another.

  
  
  


A soft hand curls itself into his that rests on the seat beside him, a golden band on the ring finger that flares brighter than any window-side sunrise “Don't you think maybe you've had enough, Vitya?” The sunlight streaming through the small airplane window make Yuuri’s eyes come alight, specks of gold adorning them to match his ring.

  
  
  


“Last one, I promise,” Victor smiles at the younger man, squeezing his hand back. “Or we can share it,” he suggests when the other gives a pouty look.

  
  
  


Yuuri leans his head over to rest against Victor’s shoulder, letting out a tired, drawn out yawn. They're both beyond exhausted, and the last minute packing for their flight had drained them, especially with the last minute changes of destination. They should’ve been on a flight to St. Petersburg two days from now. But instead they're heading for Canada. 

  
  
  


Which should probably be explained. 

  
  
  


Only a day ago, Yuuri had snagged his gold medal — a World Championship gold medal — and cried when it was placed over his neck, shining brightly. The two of them dedicated hours of ruthless training after the Grand Prix. Yuuri lived up to the title ‘Japan’s Ace’ by flawlessly winning gold at All-Japan and snagging silver at Four Continents. But it was a gold from Worlds that had Victor kissing the medal when Yuuri held it up to him with a brightly triumphant smile.

  
  
  


Then, on the high of a win, Yuuri tugged Victor’s tie and led him to the bathrooms, which, in Victor’s opinion, started off great. A sloppy makeout in a restroom stall wasn't new to them, but with the rush of endorphins that made the younger man grow bolder with his mouth, Victor had to bite his own bottom lip. It was the crashing echo of the bathroom’s door swinging open that had seized their frantic touches to a stuttering halt. 

  
  
  


“Are you sure? Really?” Victor had barely recognized the voice at the time, too preoccupied in keeping quiet in the narrow stall, pressed against the other skater’s body. 

  
  
  


“No, no, it's okay, I promise. I love you too, Bella.” The harsh beep of a call being hung up gave an echo on the porcelain walls while Victor listened to silent sobs.

  
  
  


It was later that night in their hotel room that Yuuri explained how he'd spoken to Jean-Jacques Leroy after that incident and discovered that his fiancé, Isabella Yang, if he remembered correctly, had planned to spend the off-season with him in Montreal but couldn't due to her grandfather falling ill and her family needing her.

  
  
  


Jean-Jacques Leroy had fallen victim to nerves during his free skate before that, much like at the Grand Prix Final, only this time there was no recovery; he'd fallen in sixth place at Worlds with crushing defeat. Even Victor had winced when he failed to land a double toe loop, leg crumbling beneath him and sending him across the ice.

  
  
  


Yuuri bashfully admitted to volunteering the two of them to spend a weekend in Montreal with Leroy on a pang of sympathy to his “private” bathroom breakdown that the two of them were unwilling witnesses to, though he didn't let Leroy know that part. Yuuri had made it a point to let Victor know it was okay if he didn't want to go, but Victor had taken one look at the younger man's gleaming puppy dog eyes and became putty.

  
  
  


So now here they are on a flight from Boston to Montreal. 

  
  
  


It was by miraculous convenience itself that little Yuri had agreed to tag along, though his only excuse was “Otabek said he’s going too, so why the hell wouldn't I?” He even opted to fly economy to avoid sitting with the engaged couple, stating he didn't want to see them being lovey and gross. 

  
  
  


Yuuri’s old rink mate, Phichit Chulanont, had also found out about the last minute trip as well and decided to invite himself along. And of course all it took was a twitter update from Phichit to catch the attention of Christophe, who also ended up tagging along.

  
  
  


Victor was grateful the flight that they booked last minute was only supposed to last two hours with delays, but he remained restless the entire time. When the sun finally pulls itself fully from the sea of clouds, Victor gives up the hope of sleep. His requests for mimosas soon turned to coffee with extra sugar. 

  
  
  


Yuuri retrieves his phone from his pocket, thumb making quiet taps while he scrolls. “JJ offered to pick us up from the airport,” he says as his eyes lift from his phone. “I told him that it was alright and not to worry about it.” Then he was back to thumbing through it.

  
  
  


Victor nods his head, rubbing small circles with the pad of his thumb over the cool metal of the other man's ring. “I should book us a hotel room before we land to save us trouble,” he murmurs, reaching for his phone tucked away in his bag.

  
  
  


“Actually,” Yuuri begins with a bit of reluctance. “That's not really necessary.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“What the hell do you mean we're staying with him?!”

  
  
  


Victor winces at the volume of the youngest skater’s annoyed shout of disbelief. The three of them had only been out of the air for fifteen minutes and Yuri was already making a scene.

  
  
  


“It's only for a little while, Yurio,” Yuuri tries cooing to him but the only reaction he receives is a rude finger.

  
  
  


“Screw. That.” The teen yanks a cheetah-print suitcase from the baggage claim and plants himself in the nearest airport chair, back slumped and arms crossed. Yuuri turns his head over to Victor with hopeful wide eyes and, if Victor looks close enough, a bottom lip stuck out in a mute plead.

  
  
  


Victor pulls at the rest of their luggage, sliding a blue suitcase to Yuuri. “You won't be able to find an international hotel this last minute, Yura, only local ones, and I doubt you speak enough French to ask for a room.”

  
  
  


Yuri glares up from where he is typing rapidly at his phone that he had retrieved from his jacket, staring the two of them down until he huffs, slamming his shoes to the tile to stand. “Fine. One night only, but when Beka gets here tomorrow I'm staying in a room with him!” He grabs his bag and gives them one last scowl before choosing to ignore them once more.

  
  
  


With the early morning crowd filling the airport restaurant as they pass it, choosing a lone vending machine for quick snacks instead, Victor catches snippets of words here and there, along with strings of sentences from those lugging suitcases around them. Even though he had traveled nearly everywhere for competitions, it always soothes him to be somewhere where he spoke the language fluently. Hailing a cab was as easy as pie, slipping into French to make small talk with the driver was even easier.

  
  
  


Yuuri seemed more awake than Victor felt, laughing whenever the taxi driver cracks a joke in English. Yuri keeps his scowl from earlier, opting to stay out of any conversation while too loud music is heard blasting through his headphones. The early spring left the Canadian air with the pleasant smell of maple trees and a slight biting chill that was currently the only thing keeping Victor from nodding off.

  
  
  


The forty minute drive becomes fifty, then an hour. The driver apologizes profusely about the early morning traffic rush, offering stale peppermints to the drowsy skaters. Victor insists that it is alright and that they are in no hurry. 

  
  
  


After relying the message of delay in English to the other two, Yuuri nods and taps away at his phone while Yuri increases the volume of his already too loud music seeping out. Victor actually doesn't mind the wait; the scenery they slowly pass is pleasant to look at. The snow melting away from the treetops and tiny pink flowers that share a resemblance to cherry blossoms make Victor think of a spring wedding in Hasetsu. 

  
  
  


He has to admit he is still a little irked by the fact that their wedding planning was delayed by the sudden trip. Victor knows that they'll still have time afterwards to seek out a wedding and event planner to make arrangements, but the time ticking by makes him feel anxious, as if he is wasting it. He promised Yuuri that after he won gold it would happen. Yuuri had surpassed his expectations by gifting him, not one, but, two gold medals to kiss. The gold from All-Japan was cake and the one from Worlds was the icing on top.

  
  
  


Maybe Victor could get some of the planning done while he was here though. After all, nothing is really stopping him from looking online for potential candidates to be their wedding planner. Nor is anything stopping him from securing an appointment at his favorite boutique back home in St. Petersburg to get him and Yuuri fitted for tuxes. And there is also nothing stopping him from browsing through the millions of bouquet arrangement selections on the ‘build my wedding’ app that he definitely didn't download after All-Japan either.

  
  
  


“Messieurs?” Victor blinks his eyes open from his light nap. He didn't realize he'd dozed off. He must've also not have realized he was being addressed, or that the taxi had stopped and was parked just outside of an open gate leading to a large house.

  
  
  


“Ah, merci beaucoup,” Victor speaks quickly, apologizing for not answering the first time. He gives the driver his pay and tip while the other two retrieve their luggage from the trunk. 

  
  
  


At first Victor wonders if he had mistakenly given the cab driver the wrong address, seeing as a miniature playground equipped with swings and a slide are in the front yard of the rather large home, made more for children rather than a nineteen year old man, but if Yuri’s deepening scowl wasn't enough, the loud shout addressed to the three of them let them know they had the right place.

  
  
  


Leroy’s smile is all teeth as he treads down the few steps near the porch and makes his way to them, so much so that Victor almost thinks he can see the bright shine of them from the distance with how wide of a grin he wears. 

  
  
  


“Yuuri! Victor! I'm glad you found it here without too much trouble.” 

  
  
  


Is he always this cheery? Victor doesn't know. He supposes it probably is better to pay attention to his fellow competitors more often. Most of what he'd gathered was that Leroy was self-absorbed and cocky. Yuri agreed with him on that, though he had used different words. Victor could understand that since Leroy chose at that moment to ruffle the young blond’s hair and give a full bodied laugh as he did so.

  
  
  


“Bonjour, Yurio. Did you miss me so much you wanted to come and visit too?” Leroy jests with his hand still messing up the blond locks of the seemingly seething teen. 

  
  
  


“I don't speak croissant! And don't fucking touch me, you syrup-smelling goat!” Yuri barks out while shoving his suitcase handle to Leroy, nearly hitting the Canadian man in the stomach, before stomping towards the house and fuming. “I'm only here cause Otabek felt sorry enough to visit you, so get that right!” he shouts back.

  
  
  


The air is quiet, save for the front doors swinging open and closing and Leroy’s chuckles at the noisy teen.

  
  
  


“Sorry if we're a little off of schedule,” Yuuri mutters with his greeting. The breeze that decides to briskly blow by at that moment left a tinge of rose in his cheeks while he buries his nose in his scarf.

  
  
  


No apology is needed apparently when Leroy’s grin lengthens and he urges the other two men to let him take in their luggage. “Not a worry! But I understand the frustration. Losing time spent at the Leroy house is tragic afterall,” he speaks while turning his heel and hauling the suitcases with him. “Come on, you probably skipped airport breakfast, which is good since you'll get a taste of my ma’s home cooking.”

  
  
  


Victor offers to help with the bags, but Leroy insists against it, reminding them that they are guests and don't need to lift a finger.

  
  
  


It is no surprise that when they walk in Yuri is already being fawned over by Leroy’s mother, seemingly belonging like he was part of the family. Victor always thought that Yuri attracted mother figures to him like a lost child. Hiroko, Yuuko, and now Nathalie Leroy. It's definitely cute, especially when his shouting and frothing from the mouth only earn him a pinch on the cheek and cooing over how adorable he is.

  
  
  


“Come on now, boys, sit, sit,” Leroy’s mother says to the two of them from the dining room table. “JJ will take your things to the guest room so don't fuss over that.”

  
  
  


Victor nods hastily, taking his seat with a ‘thank you.’ He knows that Nathalie Leroy is a force to be reckoned with, her hair as fiery as an adrenaline-fueled skate routine; former Olympic ice dance champion and now coach. Just because he never pays much mind to her son didn't mean that he has no knowledge or respect for her and her husband’s achievements. 

  
  
  


“When you're done with breakfast, I'll give you all a tour of the house!” Leroy calls out before the sound of the rolling suitcases dimmed out.

  
  
  


“I hope you boys like pancakes!” Mrs. Leroy smiles, piling more atop the stack on Yuri’s plate and patting his head. Unlike with Leroy, Yuri pays no mind to the affection and tears through his breakfast like a starved man. Yuuri chooses to eat a modest amount, much to the disappointed pout that Mrs. Leroy sports at that. Victor, however, digs into his food with gusto, devouring the sweet cakes with an appreciative “vkusno!”

  
  
  


Mrs. Leroy keeps the conversation alive while they eat, asking how their flight was. She also mentions his and Yuuri’s  _ Duetto _ pair skate, complimenting it profusely and stating that it reminds her of a program she had once skated. The merry conversation drifts to their wedding plans, which had Victor sitting up in his seat, Yuuri going pink, and Yuri making a gagging motion with his hand.

  
  
  


“We're hoping to do it during this year's off season! The sooner the better I always say!” Victor smiles, sipping his coffee which had gone a bit cold.

  
  
  


Mrs. Leroy’s face lights up like Christmas. “Oh, how precious! I remember when Alain and I were planning ours. We had to delay it since we were competing in the Olympics but it was still the best day of my life!”

  
  
  


“Better than the day I told you I wanted to be a skater too? Ouch, Mama.” Leroy makes himself known, dusting his hands and grabbing at an apple in a basket at the table's center. “Even better than the day  _ I was born?” _

  
  
  


“Speaking of,” The woman turns to the couple once more. “Have you two given any thoughts to having some little skaters of your own?” she asks while sipping from her mug. The sudden question has Victor frozen and Yuuri choking from accidentally inhaling his tea.

  
  
  


Victor opens and closes his mouth for a good five seconds, not doubting that he resembles a koi, and Yuuri is still trying to catch his breath through half formed stutters. 

  
  
  


It isn't as if Victor opposes the idea of children, but the question had caught him off guard. 

  
  
  


Mrs. Leroy seems like she didn't even need to await an answer anyway.

  
  
  


“JJ’s younger siblings left for school a little while ago, but you three will be able to meet them when they get back in the afternoon,” she comments sweetly.

  
  
  


“In fact, we're planning a small reunion like we always do after Worlds,” Leroy continues for his mother with a non-faltering smile. “So this week you'll be able to meet the entire Leroy family.” 

  
  
  


Yuri makes a sound that can only be compared to a cat choking on a hairball. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The sun stays out longer in Canada, at least that's what Victor thought. Or maybe it was just because the day felt like it was dragging by like a snail race. 

  
  
  


Leroy had kept true to his promise and gave the three skaters a tour of the household. By “tour,” he meant very thorough history lesson. If there was a stain on a wall or a chip in the woodwork, he treated it as an art exhibit. Six bedrooms, two of which were guest rooms, four bathrooms, and a downstairs den. Victor supposes it is modest for a family of five. 

  
  
  


His thoughts trail to his and Yuuri’s studio apartment in St. Petersburg. Would Yuuri want something more spacious? He definitely would if they were to entertain the idea of a larger family. A few more dogs couldn't hurt. And children? Victor’s finds that thought drifting through his mind since Mrs. Leroy had brought it up.

  
  
  


That afternoon the idea had seared more intensely into his mind while meeting Leroy’s siblings. His brother, Etienne, wasn't younger than Leroy by much; seventeen, or so Victor thought he heard. He shared most of his resemblance with Leroy, save for his softer features. His sister, a sweet looking girl named Rosalie, had a personality almost as intense Victor himself, shaking his and the two Yuris’ hands with all the vigor that a twelve year old could possibly have. The two of them had their mother's hazelnut eyes, whereas Leroy’s were blue like his father's. Victor thought they were sweet, especially when Rosalie took it upon herself to braid Yuri’s hair, much to the blond’s ignored protests.

  
  
  


Victor thought it was cute, especially when agreeing to participate in their family game night with board games piled high. He had laughed when Yuri threw a hissy fit during their game of Uno, choosing to toss his cards in Leroy’s face and stomp off for an early bedtime. 

  
  
  


Etienne and Rosalie were the next to follow, yawning their way up the polished wood steps while saying goodnight. Victor waved his goodnight to them, followed by “sweet dreams.”

  
  
  


The next hour goes by with easy conversation motivated by the wine that Mr. Leroy brought out, and a game of Jenga. But around ten at night Victor feels the sweet, warm buzz of alcohol nudging him to rest.

  
  
  


Mrs. Leroy says she'll show them to the guest room, an offer which they gratefully accept. Victor doesn't trust himself to trudge through the enormous house while swaying on his feet. 

  
  
  


The guest room is modest, about the same size as their bedroom back in Russia, only with two queen beds instead of one. 

  
  
  


“There's a bathroom a couple of doors down, and a linen closet next to it in case you need extra blankets,” Mrs. Leroy mentions. The wine clearly has no effect on the older woman as she smiles at the two of them while pointing at the lone closet in the hall.

  
  
  


“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Yuuri speaks and gives a bow on instinct, which causes Victor to withhold a tipsy giggle. Yuuri had more glasses than he did and it shows a bit.

  
  
  


“Yes, thank you, we do appreciate it,” Victor adds, smiling at the woman.

  
  
  


“It's no trouble, dear, anything for JJ’s friends,” she says before turning her heel. “Goodnight,” she calls while descending the stairs, out of sight.

  
  
  


Yuuri, leaning on Victor’s shoulder with pink on his cheeks, shouts out a giggly “Oyasumi nasai,” before swaying his way to one of the beds, landing on it with a quiet thump. That was how Victor found himself helping a half-asleep Yuuri into pajamas while the younger man complained to him that he'd rather sleep with nothing.

  
  
  


So with some negotiation, and many promises of cuddling, Victor manages to tuck him into one of the beds, peppering his face with kisses, only pulling away to change into his own sleepwear as quickly as possible in order to plant himself next to his fiance’s side.

  
  
  


“Vitya,” Yuuri whispers in the dark once they are both settled, tucked into each other's arms.

  
  
  


“Yes, zolotse moya?”

  
  
  


Yuuri yawns. “Thank you for coming here with me.”

  
  
  


Victor shifts, using an elbow to prop his head up “Were you expecting me to lodge in the other guest room with Yurio?” he asks with a quiet laugh. 

  
  
  


“I meant here; in Montreal. I know you wanted to go back home.” His voice is so quiet it might have gone unheard had it not been the dead of night.

  
  
  


Victor pulls him closer, placing kisses on his closed eyelids. “When I'm with you, I'm always home.”

  
  
  


That elicits small giggle from his lips as Victor kisses him slowly, feeling the shape of his smile.

  
  
  


“You're such a sap,” Yuuri mumbles, drowsiness drugging him to sleep.

  
  
  


“You made me like this,” Victor laughs, giving his head a final smooch. “Goodnight, Yuuri.”

  
  
  


He gets a light snore in response. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Were we supposed to be at the airport to wait for them?” The sun filtered in through the small bathroom window, light catching onto the steam from the running shower. “Because if we were, I think we're late,” Victor speaks around a mouthful of sudsy toothpaste. 

  
  
  


In the early hours of the morning Victor had dragged a groggy, only-slightly hungover Yuuri out of bed to shower, saying that it was best to do it early and not cut into anyone else's routine.

  
  
  


Yuuri had mumbled something along the lines of “then what's the point of having so many bathrooms?” but other than that, he had let Victor lead him down the hall without much protest.

  
  
  


“Phichit texted me a little while ago. Their plane landed and they're taking a cab.” Yuuri’s voice rings out from behind the shower curtain. A second later his head peeks out. “Aren't you going to get in too?

  
  
  


Victor meets his eye in the mirror's reflection. “There won't be much showering getting done if I do,” he flirts.

  
  
  


Whether it was from his comment or rather just the steam, the younger man's face was pink. “I meant after I'm done,” he says, dark tendrils of wet hair disappearing behind the curtain once more.

  
  
  


Victor decides to take him up on that offer, not the waiting till he was done offer, just the shower offer. 

  
  
  


Stepping out of his sleepwear and into the warm shower is nice. Wrapping his arms around his fiancé is even nicer.

  
  
  


Yuuri startles when his cold hands rest on his hips, relaxing when the hot water warms them. “Do you ever listen?”

  
  
  


Victor only hums and rests his forehead on the younger man's shoulder.

  
  
  


Their shower consists of ten percent actually washing and the other ninety percent sneaking in giggly kisses when one of them tickles the other's ribs. This process leads to Yuri pounding on the other side of the bathroom door, barking at them to hurry up. Their hushed giggles only seemed to make his fist slam against the door with more fury.

  
  
  


As soon as they exit, Yuri storms in and slams the door shut just as fast, grumbling about them using all of the hot water.

  
  
  


It’s still relatively early and Victor is about to suggest they head back to the room to rest a little more, figuring that everyone else save for them and Yuri were still asleep. Except they run into Etienne in the hall, who smiled much too brightly for seven in the morning, letting them know breakfast would be ready in a bit. 

  
  
  


Voices carry from downstairs, along with sweet smells. The Leroy household is anything but asleep. 

  
  
  


Breakfast is much like yesterday; pancakes stacked high with whipped cream sitting pretty at the top. Yuuri volunteered himself to help Mrs. Leroy in the kitchen, happily slicing strawberries into small blossoms.

  
  
  


“Oh, Yuuri, those look lovely.” Victor hears Mrs. Leroy cooing from in the kitchen. Regardless of not being in his line of vision, Victor can predict the exact shade of color on the other man’s cheeks.

  
  
  


The pancakes are no less sweeter or delicious than they had been the day before. Victor makes a point to munch away on the flower-shaped berries with a smile. 

  
  
  


“What time are your other friends arriving, JJ?” Mrs. Leroy asks, spooning sugar into her coffee.

  
  
  


“Oh, they're taking a cab here now,” Yuuri answers for him from behind his mug of tea.

  
  
  


“Oh, then they should be here soon.” Leroy stands from the table to make his way from the dining room to the kitchen. 

  
  
  


“Does that mean I can stay to meet them?” Rosalie proposes from across the table, though most of her words come through muffled around a mouthful of pancake. 

  
  
  


Leroy comes back into the dining room with a stack of extra plates and mugs atop. “No, you'll be late for school if you do.”

  
  
  


“Not fair,” the young girl tries arguing, pouting at her denied request. “I didn't get to yesterday.”

  
  
  


“You'll get to afterwards,” Mrs. Leroy finalizes. “JJ’s right, you don't want to be late, do you?” she adds, giving her daughter a stern look.

  
  
  


So with a huff, and an empty plate, Rosalie admits defeat by grabbing a green backpack from the floor beside her chair and hoisting it onto her shoulders.

  
  
  


“Oh, bus is here!” Etienne announces, rising up from his seat as well while downing orange juice straight from the carton, and earning a brief scolding from Mrs. Leroy, before hanging a purple bag on one shoulder.

  
  
  


Leroy stands once more, ruffling his sister's hair, which earns him a shout on how he messed up her pigtails. Then he pulls Etienne into a headlock, causing the younger boy to laugh as he struggles to get out of it.

  
  
  


“If anyone makes us late it'd be you, JJ!” Rosalie huffs, leaving the two behind walking through the front door herself.

  
  
  


Leroy continued his physical banter, crossing his forearms and pointing his fingers upward while exclaiming “It's JJ style!” with his brother still in the headlock. He only releases him when the voices carrying from outside seemed to get everyone's attention.

  
  
  


“It's so nice to meet all of you,” one voice that was undoubtedly Rosalie’s carries through. 

  
  
  


Yuuri rises from his seat, which causes Victor to as well, and makes a beeline for the open door where the two Leroy brothers had gone as well.

  
  
  


Victor doesn't have to stand on his toes to get a peek through the doorway to see what all of commotion is. 

  
  
  


Christophe, Phichit, and Otabek, whose hands are held hostage while vigorously being shaken by an overly enthusiastic Rosalie, stand a few steps away from the porch. 

  
  
  


The brief honk from the side of the road to causes everyone's attention to snap up; the bus driver's expression seems like he deals with this sort of thing a lot.

  
  
  


Rosalie practically has to be pulled away by Etienne into the bus, waving to those still near the front porch and promising a tour when she returns.

  
  
  


“Well, that was definitely a warm welcome,” Phichit laughs while the bus pulls away, the bright yellow of it fading in the distance.

  
  
  


“A welcoming committee just for us? How thoughtful,” says Chris, releasing the handle on his suitcase to embrace Victor and Yuuri, giving Leroy a shoulder pat afterwards. “And, of course, thanks for letting us stay over.”

  
  
  


Leroy beams at Chris. “Not a problem! Generosity is key, afterall,” he jabbers, holding the door wider open to guide everyone in. “It's good to see you all again as well.”

  
  
  


Chris and Phichit flash smiles upon crossing the threshold to the house while Otabek, stoic as ever, gives a nod as he enters.

  
  
  


Phichit and Yuuri hug briefly; Yuuri catching Phichit up on yesterday before the others had arrived, and also letting him know that they hadn't had the chance to explore Montreal yet.

  
  
  


“Otabek!”

  
  
  


Victor barely has time to recognize the shout’s owner before he is pushed harshly to the side, stumbling as he tries to regain balance as he catches sight of Yuri crushing Otabek with all the strength a sixteen year old could possibly muster.

  
  
  


“Finally,” he huffs, clearly exasperated. “I can't stand another second of ‘it's JJ style’ bullcrap.” Yuri does a mock attempt at forming his fingers into matching J’s. He tugs the older boy’s hand, attempting to rush them upstairs. “Which hotel are we staying at? I'll go get my luggage.”

  
  
  


“Yura, what are you talking about?” Otabek questions, though not stopping the attempts at being pulled. “I'm staying here in a guest room.”

  
  
  


Victor thought his ears would surely fall off from the high pitched sound of shocked despair that Yuri makes at that moment. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Breakfast continues the way it did before Victor’s ears exploded: forks and knives clinking against porcelain plates while everyone chatted, though, his ears were still ringing a bit and Yuri shouting complaints of “bacon my ass, this is clearly a slice of ham,” were certainly not helping. 

  
  
  


The plans for the day go right over Victor’s head while he attempts to be subtle about the light taps his fingers make while he browses through wedding venues on his phone under the table. 

  
  
  


“Does that sound fun, Victor?”

  
  
  


Victor’s eyes lift to Yuuri, who is staring expectantly at him. He fumbles his tongue before getting out his words. “Um. Yes…?” He has no clue what he is even agreeing on.

  
  
  


“Great! We can all go after breakfast!” Leroy says enthusiastically. 

  
  
  


“Huh…?” Everyone else agrees with whatever was decided while Victor sits there, dumbstruck with his phone still hidden under frilly tablecloth. 

  
  
  


“Why don't you take the truck, JJ,” Alain suggests before tossing Leroy a pair of keys. “Everyone can squeeze in there just fine.” 

  
  
  


Victor — still miles away from knowing what anyone was talking about — nods along with everyone. Maybe he'll figure out what's happening if he pretends he already has a clue.

  
  
  


Except, it's been nearly twenty minutes of being sandwiched between Chris and Phichit in during the car ride to who knows where (everyone except Victor apparently) and he's still trying to figure out the destination. 

  
  
  


“How about some tunes, eh?” Leroy reaches for one of the knobs on the console.

  
  
  


Victor hears Yuri softly breathe out a “Don't.” from where he and Otabek are seated in the back row. 

  
  
  


Victor recognizes Leroy’s short program music the instant it comes on; he's had to hear it all season, after all. But he recognizes Yuri’s loud groan more; he's been hearing that for years longer. So much so that he hardly flinches when the younger skater yells from the back seat; though, the shriek from this morning has probably made him deaf in one ear.

  
  
  


“I'm going to fling my body out of this truck!” 

  
  
  


As difficult as it is to tune out the teen’s complaints, Victor manages it, choosing instead to read the street signs they pass to get some idea on where they are heading. From near the street they drive down, locals walk with baskets of fruits. If Victor has to guess, the farmer's market would be busy during spring, and as they drive down Henri-Julien Avenue it was almost as if his mind had been read. Bustles of people are traveling in and out through the entrance of Jean-Talon Market, most holding bouquets that held fragrances so strong even Victor got a whiff from the rolled-down car windows.

  
  
  


“Oh, look, the farmer's market!” Victor observes, leaning what he could without crushing Chris to the window.

  
  
  


Yuri makes a ‘tch’ sound from the backseat. “No shit, Sherlock. That's where we're going.”

  
  
  


Victor retreats back to his spot in the middle with somewhat manageable embarrassment but at least the confusion is cut away. Whenever he would walk home from his rink in St. Petersburg when he was still training under Yakov, street vendors selling mini pirozhki always had him stopping for a snack on the way home; they were always extra tasty and warmed him up during the frigid winters. He doubts he'd be able to find any authentic Russian treats in a marketplace in Montreal, but he finds himself looking forward to it nonetheless. Plus, this is something he could happily participate in, afterall, he does enjoy shopping.

  
  
  


The air is almost cloying when they step into the bustle with others; every scent stirring into a sickly sweet mix with all of the nearby food vendors and gourmet walkabouts, along with the overly scented flowers from small stalls selling bouquets. 

  
  
  


“It's so much better now, during the off-season, than any other time,” Leroy announces over the tangled conversations of people nearby. He is leading in the front of the small group of skaters. “I've been in the winter, and there's not nearly as many vendors open like now!”

  
  
  


Victor had competed in Skate Canada more than once, and had only been to Jean-Talon Market one time in the middle of the Grand Prix Series in the chill of November. Leroy is right, there are so many more vendors open than he remembers from years ago. Victor even spots a crème glacée stall selling homemade gelato.

  
  
  


Chris is determined to lead both Victor and Yuuri to a vendor labelled La Boîte aux Huîtres after spotting the rough shells of oysters resting on beds of ice, and he mostly succeeded, pouting when Yuuri refuses to slurp back the oyster platter that is set before them, and Yuri had used the term “get shucked” when Victor had offered him any before leaving with Otabek to shop on their own.

  
  
  


The remaining five dwindle to three when they pass by a shop called Les Noix du Marché and Victor tugs Yuuri’s arm, pointing at the nuts shop while rushing them inside, leaving the other skaters to themselves while he exclaims that the two of them had finally been reunited with the bag of nuts from last year's GPF. The giggle from Yuuri that only has a hint of embarrassment warms Victor’s heart. 

This vacation from vacation is proving to not be not as dull as Victor had previously thought it would be.

  
  
  


The group had paused their shopping for brunch at a small open cafe/creperie; the smells enticing every skater where they all agreed would be a good stop. Victor didn't even need to taste the food to know it was good — that didn't stop him, of course — just by the heavenly smell that drifted from his plate of fresh chocolate croissants to his nose. 

  
  
  


Chris and Phichit let their food go cold, choosing instead to take several hundreds of photos of their plates from every possible angle. It turned into a selfie war, which resulted in them recruiting Victor while Yuuri became a casualty while just trying to eat his omelette in peace. 

  
  
  


Yuri and Otabek return as well, and it was no surprise to see that the younger boy had managed to find and purchase anything resembling cheetah-print. 

  
  
  


The sun hangs above, shining in the middle of the sky while Victor accompanies Leroy when he suggested the rest wait while he brings the truck near the back parking lot so they won't have to walk all the way through the marketplace again. Victor doesn't mind, though he feels a bit awkward walking with the Canadian man not knowing how to make much small talk that involves the words “King JJ,” which he's heard a total of eleven times since he arrived.

  
  
  


“—how I came up with the “JJ” pose in junior high.” Victor really should stop making it a habit of zoning out and only paying half-attention. Especially while they walk past the front exit completely. 

  
  
  


“Didn't we just pass the parking lot?” Victor inquires, though it's not much of a question, more of a  _ hey, look, the exit. _

  
  
  


Leroy looks back at him from where he's walked on ahead. “I know, but I was hoping to make one last stop to show you something,” he says, continuing forward. 

  
  
  


Victor feels more confused than awkward while he follows the Canadian man, eyes remaining on the back of his tan jacket so he wouldn't lose him in the crowds. What could he need to show him? They were competitors, sure, but Victor can probably count the number of times they'd spoken on both of his hands.

  
  
  


The first thing that comes to Victor’s mind was  _ bees _ . Cause that sure seems to be where Leroy was heading; straight for the booth of beekeepers. Only he goes behind it. Almost as if going into the stall? As Victor hesitates but follows eventually, he spots a different booth, small but glittering, that the Canadian man now stands in front of with his hands proudly on his hips.

  
  
  


“Joyaux des Étoiles” Victor reads aloud from the silver sign hanging above.  _ Jewels of the Stars.  _

  
  
  


“The jeweler who owns the brand is a family friend,” Leroy speaks. “They usually bring a booth to Jean-Talon during the spring only, but they like to keep it hidden apparently.” He gestures to the wall of honey jars keeping the flow of people to a minimum. 

  
  
  


Victor is still a little lost on what was happening, if he is being honest, so he waits for the other man to continue. 

  
  
  


“This is where I got Isabella’s engagement ring,” he says with a dreamy sigh. “I don't know if they do the thing with both the engagement ring and wedding band in Russia,” he continues. “But, I figured that if you had trouble finding a jeweler to make a custom wedding band, I could put a good word in for you.”

  
  
  


Victor is left speechless for a moment. Perplexed as to why Leroy would go out of his way just to offer something like this? He barely knew Victor personally; he barely knew Yuuri personally. And if Victor is being honest, the sudden gesture of kindness is leaving him a bit flabbergasted.

  
  
  


“That's awfully kind,” he begins to say. “But why?”

  
  
  


Leroy’s face was sure to match his in confusion, but only briefly before he claps Victor on the back. “Because we're friends of course!” he exclaims. “Not to mention that we're both engaged the at same time! Our fiancés are so lucky!”

  
  
  


Victor looks back at the display of gemstones and rings of silver and gold. Leroy definitely did not have to offer something like this. He didn't need to be kind to someone who was too busy wanting to be somewhere else. But maybe that is why Leroy had offered. Victor had spent most of the time here thinking about his own wedding and maybe the other man had picked up on that. Or maybe he’s just naturally kind-hearted. Either way, Victor finds himself appreciating it.

  
  
  


“Yeah, they sure are!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 3 months late and with starbucks*

The drive back to the house was pleasant — aside from Yuri’s complaints of them taking too long to bring the truck around back. Noon rolled around, and just when Victor thought he'd regained hearing in his right ear, Yuri’s screeching at the “too many JJs” that was in fact just the Leroy family reunion that Nathalie had spoken of brought back the incessant ringing in his skull.

  
  
  


Victor only thought he'd shake hands with so many people in one sitting at banquets when speaking with sponsors. Well, he did have a habit of being wrong.

  
  
  


“This is Aunt Helene, Cousin Rob, Uncle Henry,” Jean-Jacques goes on and on. If Victor thought that the house tour was thorough, he was wrong once again, no surprise there. No relative goes unintroduced. Victor is just lucky there were five other skaters there with him or his right arm might fall off.

  
  
  


“And on my mom's side,”

  
  
  


It's both a miracle and an anomaly that Yuri hasn't lost his voice yet. Victor, however, is sure that his own hearing will cease before he hits forty.

  
  
  


“Cousin Elise, Aunt Margot” Jean-Jacques doesn't seem to notice how Yuri has ditched the family introductions and instead secluded himself near the coffee table of horderves. Victor wishes he could do the same.

  
  
  


The Leroy family is polite, if not a bit overbearing. Most that were as dramatic as Jean-Jacques came from Mrs. Leroy’s side while the more quiet and reserved were from his father. Victor thought they were nice either way.

  
  
  


“Oh and that's Cousin Chad,” Jean-Jacques nods his head over towards the couches where a boy around his age hovers near the food table. While lowering his voice to a not very concealed whisper, Jean-Jacques adds “He's not invited to these types of things very often since..”

  
  
  


No one fails to notice — honestly, how could anyone _ not _ notice — the fashion monstrosity of salmon shorts and a bright, non-complementing polo, plop down beside Russia’s soon to be golden boy — also known as Yuri Plisetsky — and sling his arm over the younger boy and slew something along the lines of “Hey, baby, are you one of JJ’s skater friends?”

  
  
  


Victor feels as if his eyes are being soiled just by looking at the horrid socks with sandals combo, but there is also a possibility that they're just stinging from the over-sprayed amount of Axe that clings to the other man. There’s a word he'd heard before from Mila, a term she'd use to describe some of the hockey players whenever they'd catcall her at the rink. Yuri, apparently, is familiar with that word too.

  
  
  


“Fuckboy!”

  
  
  


It seems that Yuri’s strong attitude and way with words has become the norm of the Leroy household within the past two days since hardly anyone bats an eye when Yuri, with all of his one-hundred and sixty pound glory, tosses his cup of fruit punch in Cousin Chad’s face; of course, it could also just be the fact that Yuri was an instant family favorite as soon as he arrived.

  
  
  


No one pays any mind to the punch-stained Chad while they coo to the young blonde, asking Yuri if he’s alright. Jean-Jacques was the only one to tease, saying that Yuri’s lithe figure and flowy hair is deceiving. And even though the joke is meant to be good-natured, little Yura shouts out things that should begin with “Pardon my French.”

  
  
  


Most of the afternoon proceeds with everyone keeping a ten-mile radius away from Cousin Chad (except for Rosalie, who kicks one of his shins in Yuri’s honor) while going on with their get-together.

  
  
  


Upon pondering, Victor finds it odd that Leroy had invited them all to Montreal just days before his family reunion. Being at an event specifically family-only makes Victor feel a bit misplaced, like he’s interrupting the party with his presence. He can only imagine how Yuuri must feel around this suffocating atmosphere. A quick glance over toward his fiancé allows Victor to see the younger man in the kitchen, happily helping Mrs. Leroy wrap bacon around tiny sausages while he laughs at whatever she'd just said. It makes sense he'd isolate himself from the crowd in favor of helping with the cooking.

  
  
  


Victor finds himself stuck playing Go-Fish with Mrs. Leroy’s niece (or at least that's what he remembers from the five hundred introductions during the party), a polite five year-old named Genevieve that everyone called “Jenny.”

  
  
  


“Do you have any kings?” Victor asks while rearranging his cramping criss-crossed legs as they sit on the floor in the cozy-but-cramped den, using the surface of the coffee table to lay out their cards.

  
  
  


“Hmm.” During the last three turns she'd fold a card behind another and say “go fish” but Victor figures that he won't say anything and just let her win.

  
  
  


“Go fish. Do you have any eights?”

  
  
  


Victor hums and acts as if he is searching through his hand of cards while holding it an inch away from his face to hide the fact that he’s staring at Yuuri from across the room.

  
  
  


“Well?”

  
  
  


“Huh?” Victor looks back across the coffee table at the impatient child before looking down at his hand of cards; ironically enough, it consists only of hearts.

  
  
  


“You're spending the whole game staring at the man with the blue glasses. Do you want him to play too?”

  
  
  


“Isn't this a two-player game?” Victor asks before handing her an eight card.

  
  
  


Jenny takes the card and adds the pair of eights to her growing winning pile. “He can switch with me while I go to the washroom,” she says before striding over to the kitchen to tug on the hem of Yuuri’s shirt enough to distract him from his task of h’orderve-making.

That's how Victor finds himself grinning as he asks his fiancé if he has any queens. It is comfortingly domestic, and if Victor tries hard enough, he could pretend they were in their cozy living room back in St. Petersburg with Makkachin curled up at their feet.

  
  
  


“Go fish.”

  
  
  


Victor stares up from his cards. “Huh? I thought saw you draw a queen from the deck!”

  
  
  


Yuuri looks up, hiding his cards close to his chest. “So you admit to looking at my cards?” he asks smugly, pushing his glasses up.

  
  
  


“So you admit to cheating?”

  
  
  


“It's Go Fish, you can hardly cheat,” the younger man says matter-of-factly.

  
  
  


“Yuuuuri,” Victor draws his name out, jokingly distraught. “Show me some mercy, you're already winning.”

  
  
  


“Never.” The statement was cruel, the delivery, however, sends Victor’s heart soaring as his fiancé teases him — giggly and at ease while Victor feigns mock-heartbreak along with a "you wound me.”

  
  
  


“Hm, do you have any aces?” Yuuri inquires once they continue.

  
  
  


Victor makes a show of tucking a card away behind another. “Oh, I don't know..” He grins at the way the other raised his eyes to him. “Hm, go fish I suppose.”

  
  
  


“Victor,” Yuuri pouts.

  
  
  


“What? It's not like you can cheat at Go Fish, right?”

  
  
  


Yuuri’s pout doesn't cease; if anything, it becomes poutier, if that was even a thing.

  
  
  


“Vitya~,” and _ oh, _that isn't fair. Victor has no choice but to cave; break his own resolve.

  
  
  


“Fine,” he sighs, begrudgingly handing over his card. “An ace for Japan’s Ace.”

  
  
  


It it's apparent that Jenny had abandoned the game when twenty minutes and another round of cards with Yuuri passes; Victor is pretty sure he spots her sneaking cannolis from the kitchen to the backyard, but who is he to tattle? Besides, he's enjoying the time spent with the younger man — his life, his love — even if they were simply playing a child’s card game.

  
  
  


“I was thinking,” Victor begins while shuffling the deck. “How about sakura bouquets as our flower arrangements?”

  
  
  


The bustle of the day shows on Yuuri’s shoulders as his head rests on the coffee table, cradled in his arms. “Hm,” He tiredly props up his heavy head. “I was thinking maybe carnations,” he answers with a soft yawn.

  
  
  


An idea hatches within Victor’s mind and he suddenly does not regret looking through flower arrangements on the wedding app that — again — he definitely did not download.

  
  
  


“Yuuri!” His palms hit the table as he rises up on his knees, unintentionally spooking his tired fiancé with the sudden exclamation. “How about blue carnations and sakura flowers? That way it matches our pair skate costumes!”

  
  
  


“Sure, Vitya,” the younger man answers; a soft smile yet bleary eyes. He seems content with the decision, but Victor had come to realize not too long ago contentment didn't mean happiness. Ever since he did put that ring on Victor they'd discussed further details, but “discussed” wasn't really the right word now that Victor thinks about it. He is eager to hear Yuuri’s thoughts; he hadn't often added his input to the wedding so far.

  
  
  


“Yuu-” Victor begins but halts his words when another figure slinks down at an empty side of the small coffee table with a thump.

  
  
  


“Heya! Whatcha two playing? Cribbage? Mille?” Victor knows he shouldn't be upset with Jean-Jacques, he was only missing his absent fiancé and was trying to distract himself surely, but it still left the Russian irked by the loud intrusion.

  
  
  


“Go Fish,” Yuuri answers while Victor physically restrains an annoyed pout.

  
  
  


“You know, if we got another person we could play Euchre!” Jean-Jacques announces.

  
  
  


Victor is sure he understood Yuri’s sourness more than ever, legs cramping uncomfortably as Phichit is pulled over to add a fourth player to the game that Victor unwillfully is now apart of.

  
  
  


Twenty-two minutes. Forty-six minutes. An hour. Victor is sure he will hear the snap of cards being shuffled in his dreams tonight — which leads to another predicament.

  
  
  


The game of Euchre — which lasts a good hour and a half — comes to a close right when the last of the Leroy relatives are taking their leave. And while Victor kindly says goodbye to the few that are left, he regrettably remembers that the household only has two guestrooms.

  
  
  
  


The one he and Yuuri stayed in did have two beds, maybe if Victor begs Yuri and Otabek to trade rooms with them they'll be given some semblance of privacy...no, most likely not.

  
  
  


“You and me can share a bed, Yuuri! It'll be just like a sleepover in Detroit!” Phichit bounces amiably. Victor knows he doesn't have to worry, Yuuri and Phichit are old rink mates after all. It still doesn't soothe the fact he couldn't even share a bed with his own fiancé, however. Well, at least Yuuri isn't sharing a bed with Chris, but that did leave another problem.

  
  
  


“Chris, if you grope me one more time you're sleeping on the floor.”

  
  
  


“Huh, you didn't complain during Juniors when we had to share a room together,” Chris mumbles out with a sluggishness that suggests he'd already dosed.

  
  
  


Victor huffs as he removes the arm draped over his back and turns to face the other bed. The dimness of the room barley allows him to see the two tufts of dark hair resting on the fluffed up pillows. It isn't hard to tell which one is Yuuri’s; unruly and mussed as it always was during sleep.

  
  
  


As the minutes tick by with no achievement of sleep, Victor breathes out a small sigh. He's not angry at Jean-Jacques, he couldn't be angry toward someone so intent on making sure everyone was having fun in such an unfamiliar place; he most certainly couldn't be angry at an entire family of relatives. Victor isn't even sure he could call this feeling anger. It wasn't fuming from him like anger usually does; it wasn't sparking his nerves. No, it settled in the ends of his fingertips as he let his arm fall and hang over the side of the bed, a melancholy tug of wanting to hold onto the person a mere five feet away.

  
  
  


It didn't feel like anger at all; it felt more like longing.

  
  
  


_ Selfish, _he thinks. They are going to get married soon, he shouldn't be so clingy when they'll have the rest of their lives to stay glued to each other's sides. Victor briefly wonders if this was how Makkachin had felt all the time when he left to compete. That pulls at his heart even more.

  
  
  


Silently, Victor makes a small vow to himself, promising to fill his hours with his two favorite people when they fly back to St. Petersburg in a few days, and he'll do his damn best to enjoy this vacation with Yuuri and the others as a group, rather than a pair, with as little moping as possible. He at least owes everyone that kindness.

  
  
  


It's roughly half-past eleven when Victor falls asleep counting sheep and listening to the soft breathing of his fiancé so close yet out of reach.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


There's a reason why Victor had chosen figure skating in favor of hockey. Actually, there's infinite reasons why: rough housing was one; just watching the brutes back at Yubileiny knock themselves onto the cold hard ice was enough to make him cringe. The skaters and hockey players weren't on the best of terms at their home rink in St. Petersburg, often fighting on who'd get more ice time. Even though they shared the common love for the ice, the two sports got along like oil and water.

  
  
  


Hockey was a favorite in Canada though, so Victor wasn't surprised when he and the rest of the vacationing skaters were piled in Alain Leroy’s truck once more — extra padding and protection gear packed along with hockey sticks in the trunk — heading to the local rink. Victor couldn't be too upset, though; he got to sit next to Yuuri this time.

  
  
  


The rink was big, mostly the same as Yubileiny, the only exception was the walls adorned with red maple leaves. Apparently Jean-Jacques volunteers coaching beginner's hockey lessons to small kids every off season, or at least that's what the nice woman handing them their rental skates mentioned. Victor would have payed more attention if he wasn't so busy struggling to figure out how to put on the padding for his arms and legs.

  
  
  


“I'm supposed to skate while wearing this clunky helmet? How atrocious, what if it flies off while I'm spinning?” Victor whines.

  
  
  


“There's no spinning in hockey, Vitya.” Yuuri helps secure the what should be called ‘armor’ on him. Yuuri once mentioned he worked part time at Hasetsu Ice Castle during high school, so he probably has no problems with knowing how to fasten the knee and shoulder pads correctly. Victor briefly wonders if Yuuri had also helped little kids learn to skate; the image of seventeen year old Yuuri guiding a string of little kids across the ice warms Victor’s cheeks.

  
  
  


“And there's no jumps either, so don't try it in those skates or you might get hurt,” his fiancé warns as they walk toward the entrance of the ice, the clunk of the hockey skates sounding with each step.

  
  
  


He doubts he'll get hurt, this is the ice after all, frozen into his bones since he could remember. How difficult can it be?

  
  
  


Very difficult, he realizes four feet onto the smooth ice.

  
  
  


The rental skates are very different from his own golden bladed ones that he was told to leave in the suitcase. He's not sure if it's because they're rental skates or if it's because they're hockey skates, but the blades on these are thinner and they make him wobble instead of glide. The fact that there are no toepicks is reaching to take first place as his number one pet peeve.

  
  
  


Victor makes a grab for the wall before he stumbles, barley keeping himself upright. Sparing a glance across the rink at the others, Victor feels a bit better knowing that he's not the only one looking like a newborn deer. Chris is keeping to the barrier while steadily keeping a small semblance of balance. Phichit and Yuri are already lying on the cold surface, the former laughing and trying to pick himself up while the latter yells profanities that makes Victor glad that there are no children skating right now.

  
  
  


The only ones who seem to know what they're doing are Jean-Jacques, Otabek, and Yuuri. Victor has to admit he's jealous but maybe if he's clumsy enough — which he certainly is — he might be able to convince his fiancé to let him hold onto him.

  
  
  


Yuri learns how to stay up right rather quickly, refusing help from Jean-Jacques in favor of Otabek, who also apparently has experience in hockey. Victor feels like he's getting the hang of it too, but he makes sure to trip every so often to insure that Yuuri keeps holding his hand.

  
  
  


Once everyone skates a few laps around the rink after they regain balance in the unfamiliar skates, Jean-Jacques suggests a small match. Victor knew the basics of hockey sure, but he isn't so keen on having a tooth knocked out right before his wedding, so he's fine with being a goalie when it's suggested, and it seems Yuuri has the same idea on the other side of the rink, defending the small net. Victor’s paired with Jean-Jacques and Chris; he figures that with the Canadian being the most experienced makes up for the others having an extra player.

  
  
  


As soon as the “game” starts, Yuri, with his new found ability to stay upright, pumbles Jean-Jacques at every opportunity available. Victor is pretty sure there's tears in his eyes from the hilarity of the situation. If Mila were here he knows she'd get a kick out of it too.

  
  
  


Victor doesn't even need to guard since Yuri doesn't even try to get the puck past him, too busy knocking the Canadian to the ice.

  
  
  


“Yuri, you can't shove someone if they don't have the puck.”

  
  
  


“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” the boy yells before wacking Jean-Jacques with the hockey stick and trying to trip him with it. Victor doesn't need to be a hockey player to know that that's not allowed but he's not going to risk his front teeth by trying to stop the younger Russian.

  
  
  


The match — if it can really be called one — ends with no winners even though Yuri raises his stick in victory every time he successfully knocks Jean-Jacques over.

  
  
  


Smaller children file onto the benches awaiting the public skate to start, little skates on their feet as their short legs swing in the air in anticipation. If they weren't so cute Victor would be annoyed at the way they point and laugh at the way he wobbles to the rink’s barrier to exit.

  
  
  


The air has a tinge of chill to it when they exit the building, big puffs of clouds in the sky with minimal blue showing. With the equipment bagged away and packed right on back into the truck, Jean-Jacques takes note of the breeze and somehow figures that the best thing to do right after hockey is ice fishing.

  
  
  


Victor isn't sure if he is trying to immerse them in the full Canadian experience or if he’s trying to kill them with exhaustion. The former, most likely; he’s too arrogantly nice after all.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Victor was jealous of Chris, Phichit, and Otabek, who all feigned drowsiness during the drive to the house to return the hockey supplies in favor of fishing equipment. Rosalie and Etienne were happy to take their places, especially Rosalie, who ran to the kitchen to pack lunches for everyone.

  
  
  


“I didn't think you'd be cold, being Russian and all,” Etienne laughs at the way Victor clings to Yuuri while baiting his hook. If he is being truthful, Victor isn't cold at all, but wrapping Yuuri in his arms with the excuse of sharing body heat is too blissful.

  
  
  


“It’s because he's a wuss,” Yuri supplies, as helpful as ever. Yuri already has his own hook baited and the line is already in the water. Victor remembers years ago in St. Petersburg when Nikolai Plisetsky had invited him on a fishing trip with him and Yura. Victor had declined, in too much a depressive slump/midlife crisis to do much of anything besides skate and skate and skate until his inspiration was left chafing and raw, only to dry up and disintegrate. He's glad those days are over.

  
  
  


“Yurio, don't be mean.” Rosalie pads over the frozen ice carrying a basket with something that smelled nice.

  
  
  


“Rosie, where's JJ?” Etienne asks, sinking his line in the hole in the ice right beside Yuri’s. Victor is a bit wary that they need a hole that wide just for casual fishing; he's heard too many stories of people falling in.

  
  
  


“He went further down the lake to see if he had a chance at catching any fish there,” she answers while taking the empty foldable chair beside where Victor clings to Yuuri like an octopus. Though they all wear life vests, the thought of another hole in the ice makes Victor uneasy.

  
  
  


“Tch, I bet he thinks he can catch more fish than me.” Yuri scoffs and focuses intently on the line in the water, as if staring at it sharply enough will make it more enticing to the fish below.

  
  
  


It's odd why the ever so social Jean-Jacques would opt to fish alone when he was the one who suggested the last minute fishing trip.

  
  
  


Rosalie flips open the lid of her basket, allowing wafts of savory steam to float from it. “Here ya go,” she says handing Victor two lumps of hot tinfoil for him and Yuuri.

  
  
  


Victor reaches to accept them with a ‘thank you.’ At first he thinks they're simply to warm his chilly hands but watching the others unravel the foil to reveal hot sandwiches makes him feel even more grateful.

  
  
  


“So no one's caught anything yet? Not a bite?” Rosalie inquiries through a mouthful of meat and bread. Everyone shakes their heads. “We should have brought Dad, he's a better fisherman than JJ.”

  
  
  


Etienne nods his head, switching grip on the pole. “Yeah, JJ always goofs when it comes to outdoorsy things like this,” he laughs.

  
  
  


Victor does not like the idea of someone goofing when there is a dog-door sized hole in the lake, scratch that, there are _ two _ dog-door sized holes in the lake, and to top it all off Jean-Jacques is further down the lake, _ alone. _

  
  
  


Reluctantly, he removes himself from the warmth radiating from his fiancé who looks at the sudden loss of heat with confusion as Victor lifts himself from the chair. “I'm just going to check on—” he tries to explain before Yuri interrupts, causing attention to fall on him.

  
  
  


“Oi, I caught something!” The fishing line tugs into the water, making the pole curve downward.

  
  
  


“Looks like a big one!” Etienne observes as the younger boy attempts to reel it in, the _ click click click _ of the rod echoing as everyone encourages Yuri as he struggles to reel in the catch.

  
  
  


“What the hell kind of fish is this big?” Yuri grunts and knits his brows together in frustration.

  
  
  


“You may have to let this one go, Yurio,” Yuuri says from beside him. Yuuri has the right idea in holding the tail of the boy’s jacket so whatever it is on the end of the line doesn't pull him in with it.

  
  
  


“Like hell I will!” he shouts, but it doesn't make a difference when the line snaps and the momentum of him pulling on the fishing pole makes him slide back.

  
  
  


Both Yuri’s are knocked onto the ice and Victor is ready to check them over to be sure they're alright, but the surface of the water in the hole bubbles before a head with hair matted down from the water protrudes from it.

  
  
  


The tattoo of a maple leaf gives light to what, or rather, _ who, _it is that shimmies out onto the ice before them.

  
  
  


Yuri slips right back down from where he'd tried to get back up upon catching sight of Jean-Jacques shaking the water from his hair like a dog. “JESUS, FUCK—”

  
  
  


Victor isn't sure if that's supposed to be a question as to why Jean-Jacques decided to take an afternoon swim _in_ _the middle of ice fishing_, or if it was simply a statement of shock on the fact that Jean-Jacques literally just shimmied his way out of a hole in the ice wearing a pair of red speedos that proudly show off his — what was the word? Yuri had said it once before. Oh, right — tramp-stamp.

  
  
  


“Welp, there's no fish on that side of the lake,” Jean-Jacques summarizes while accepting the towel Etienne held open for him.

  
  
  


“Not even one?” Rosalie sighs and slumps in her chair. “How boring;what a waste of a trip,” she sighs as if talking about a glum weather forecast and not the fact that her brother had just taken a swim in a frozen lake of icy water in order to...what? Catch fish? With his bare hands perhaps?? Victor is absolutely floored.

  
  
  


Before Victor can recover from his speechlessness, Etienne and Rosalie begin to pack away everything, mumbling about a boring day, and Victor is left to believe that their reactions are results of Jean-Jacques being like this all the time. Looking over, Victor can tell that Yuuri and Yuri are baffled as well, but they help gather the equipment anyway.

  
  
  


The three vacationing skaters are quiet on the drive back. The Leroy siblings, however, are not. They decide now is the best time to begin a heated debate on who gets to be Jean-Jacques’ best man at his wedding. Rosalie makes a compelling argument, whereas Etienne’s only protest is that a girl couldn't possibly be the best man. Jean-Jacques settles the matter in seconds, assigning them both to the fate of flower girls. Rosalie promises that as soon as the car is safely parked she'll beat both of her brothers to a pulp.

  
  
  


Victor notices how Yuri’s silence is only brought on by sheer and utter confusion from the whole ordeal; however, Yuuri’s quietness is different, it’s the quiet he gets on plane rides to competitions; it's the leg-shaking quiet he gets when he fails a jump, when he stays in his own head for too long.

  
  
  


Victor laces their fingers together to ground the younger man, swiping his thumb over his knuckles. He hopes it's comforting. He's done his fair share of research on anxiety the past year; he doesn't want a repeat of the parking lot disaster during the Cup of China, and the sight of Yuuri sobbing always makes Victor shudder. If Yuuri is about to have an anxiety attack right now, then Victor will hold him together until they have the privacy of their guestroom.

  
  
  


It seems that Yuuri doesn't need soothing apparently, seeing as how the dullness in his eyes refocuses at the touch of Victor’s hands. The loud silence is gone and Yuuri leans his head onto Victor, all tension from his shoulders gone as if he wasn't as still as a statue a second ago.

  
  
  


When they return to the Leroy household, the sun is setting. Yuuri takes a quick shower alone and says he'd like to turn in early; Victor can guess why. Rubbing soothing circles on his fiancé’s back, Victor promises he'll be in with him after taking a shower of his own.

  
  
  


The tiles of the shower wall are cold with his forehead leaned against it and Victor finds that he hates showering by himself; he can't believe he used to do it before; there's probably a chance that Yuuri’s feeling the same right now in their guestroom. Victor had developed a method, a protocol to these sort of things. Make sure Yuuri was in the safety of privacy, give him some breathing room, then meet him halfway as always, be it with words or just holding him close. Victor wishes he could hold him right now.

  
  
  


The water is lukewarm when he shuts it off. Toweling himself down quickly, Victor tugs on his sweatpants, only to have them stick to his still damp legs in his rush. Drying himself for the second time, albeit, more thoroughly, he pulls on his clothes more easily.

  
  
  


When Victor opens the door to their room he's met with an emerald-eyed glare. “Can I fucking help you?” Yuri is sitting cross-legged in the center of one of the beds, invested with his phone.

  
  
  


“I should be asking you that,” Victor responds, a bit confused.

  
  
  


The other just huffs. “I offered Piggy the other room for tonight; looked like he needs it.” Yuri slumps and gives a death glare the second Victor cracks a smile. “Don't look so smug. Just take your shit and go,” he says while roughly nudging Victor’s suitcase at the end of the bed. Victor finds it endearing, even if Yuri essentially told just him to fuck off.

  
  
  


Treading over to the guest room on the other side of the hall, he can hear everyone else in the living room downstairs, laughing merrily and most likely playing board games. Victor feels a bit bad about letting another poor soul be subjected to Chris’s octopus-slumber-hold, but that feeling quickly gets snubbed out by the memory of Yuuri’s distant stare during the ride back.

  
  
  


“Victor, hey!”

  
  
  


Victor stops a few steps short of the guestroom to turn at the source of voice. “Jean-Jacques,” he begins, but stops at the shaking of the other man’s head.

  
  
  


“Just JJ, please,” he smiles. “I brought up tea!” he holds up a tray with two mugs; tea-strings hanging off the sides. “It’s green tea! The local shop down the road has the best teas!” The mugs do a little hop and ‘clink’ when he lifts the tray and Victor holds in a breath when he fears that the scalding liquid might spill because of the other's excitement.

  
  
  


Jean-Jacqu— _ JJ, _he corrects himself, quiets a bit after the tea stops splashing in the confines of the porcelain mugs. “I saw that Yuuri looked a little down, I hope this helps, even a little.” He hesitates for a moment, in between offering the tray to Victor and giving a soft smile that doesn't seem to scream ‘It's JJ style!’

  
  
  


“It's what I drink when these things happen to me too, err, except I don't really drink green tea; I'm more of a chamomile kind of guy but I just thought Yuuri’d like green better,” the Canadian drones.

  
  
  


Victor regretfully remembers JJ’s flounder at the GPF and his blow at Worlds, his face on the screen of the kiss and cry. The same face Yuuri wears when he flubs his jumps during practice, and the same face Victor would hold in place at the corner of his clavicle while he cried. A majority of this trip was spent greedily wanting to be glued to his fiancé’s side, but Victor’s mind reminds him that JJ’s own fiancé is miles apart from him while he's here smiling and trying to make sure his guests are comfortable and having a good time.

  
  
  


“That's,” Victor begins while carefully taking a hold of the tray. “Very thoughtful. Thank you.” The soft gesture of kindness and the tinting of sympathy on the younger man's face rings a small reminder that they're in the same boat; both just craving their fiancés attention.

  
  
  


When Victor enters the guest room — with the help of ever-so-kind JJ opening the door for him since his hands are occupied with the tea tray — there's a Yuuri-sized lump in the comforter on the bed.

  
  
  


“Yuuri~” Victor sing-songs as the lump moves at the noise of the door opening and closing. “I have tea for you, dear,” he says, letting his fiancé know that their host had gone out of his way for the upteenth time during this trip. Victor isn't upset though; not when Yuuri’s comfort is involved.

  
  
  


“Is it matcha?” Yuuri asks, poking his head from the covers. He always prefers a steaming cup of matcha, sometimes Victor even lets him have matcha lattes despite the fact that caffeine probably isn't the best thing for anxiety jitters.

  
  
  


“Afraid not, lyubov. Just regular green tea,” Victor answers after carefully blowing the steam from his own mug. He wants to ask, but he waits. Victor will stay at the halfway mark until Yuuri is comfortable.

  
  
  


Yuuri takes a deep inhale of the steam wafting from the mug before taking and miniscule sip to check the temperature. The barest hint of the pink of his tongue sticks out before he twists his torso to set the mug carefully on the nightstand to his left; it's either too hot or he just doesn't like it.

  
  
  


Then, to Victor’s momentary delight, he shuffles closer and tucks himself between Victor’s arm and chest. “Sorry about earlier,” is heard as a mumble that's muffled by his nightshirt.

  
  
  


His hair is slightly damp from his shower earlier yet still soft to the touch as Victor threads his fingers through the dark locks. “You don't need to apologize, we both know it happens sometimes.” Sometimes is usually just before or during competition when nerves are high, not on vacations, especially with multiple medals snagged; there has to be a specific reason. Victor thinks back on today, nothing was aloof about the events of the day, well unless he counts Yuri splashing someone with fruit juice and JJ emerging from a frozen river, but honestly that should've spooked anyone into a silent stupor, and Yuuri only went quiet during the car ride back-

  
  
  


...while the Leroy siblings were talking about wedding plans. But that couldn't be it, could it? Yuuri is just as excited about the wedding as he is. Or at least that's what Victor is led to believe. Maybe it's the stress, they did just finish a long, grueling season, after all, especially with the anticipation of Victor jumping into next season while coaching and competing simultaneously. It all does seem like...a lot on their plates.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The morning sun hits this guestroom differently; the light barely makes a sliver of appearance through the slitted blinds, but thanks to a conveniently placed wall mirror, the harsh rays beam directly onto the bed and onto Victor’s tired face.

  
  
  


It's at least a step up from having to share a room, and from Chris’s chokehold slumber. Yuuri’s sleepy cuddling he does not mind, though. If anything, he's come to require it to even get a peaceful night's rest.

  
  
  


Yuuri had gotten better after a good cuddling last night, mumbling about katsudon in his sleep with a drooly smile. Victor had pretended they were back in Hasetsu, hugged together and being lulled to sleep by the sound of waves.

  
  
  


Carefully, Victor extractes himself from the other man's hold, replacing his spot with a fluffy pillow while kissing the other's bed-messy hair. The bedside clock shows it’s still relatively early, a bit before seven-thirty. Victor can hear the younger Leroy siblings downstairs, arguing about something before a shout of “Bus is here!” cuts the voices.

  
  
  


Victor can taste his own morning breath and quickly decides that he needs to brush so that no one will be subjected to the horrid, stale stench. Grabbing his toothbrush and a change of clothing, he pads to the restroom, splashing tepid water into his half-crusted eyelids.

  
  
  


Today is their last day here; he and Yuuri’s flight back to St. Petersburg leaves at noon tomorrow.

  
  
  


Spitting out a mouthful of suds, Victor dresses himself and exits the restroom, passing by Yuri. The blond has a hint of shadow under his eyes and Victor comes to the conclusion that he is yet another victim of Phichit and Christophe’s combined snoring. Victor begins a good morning greeting but the bathroom door is slammed as a form of interruption and as a signal to shut up.

  
  
  


Judging by the muteness of the halls, everyone else appears to still be asleep, so Victor tries his best to remain quiet. Tries. The polished wooden floors creek slightly as Victor descends them; he winces at the noise but continues his trek, crossing the living room and heading in the direction of the kitchen. He can hear the sound of running water and the clink of plates despite there being no voices to follow, ulike the previous mornings that didn't have a moment's lull.

  
  
  


He pokes his head into the kitchen only to see JJ, standing above the snack-bar of the counter top, face downcast and shoulders hunched, stacking dirty plates and forks into the sink to be washed. Victor finds it an odd sight to see the younger man without his signature smile or booming voice.

  
  
  


“Need some help?” Victor makes his presence known, stepping fully into the kitchen.

  
  
  


The younger man turns his head and Victor is almost surprised to see the tired expression shift into a hospitable one. “Victor, good morning!” The offer on the help with cleanup is brushed aside, replaced with the offer of “Let me make you breakfast since you're the only one up right now.” His smile attempts to rival the brightness shining into the kitchen, but Victor knows this type of smile, the kind he himself used to put on during interviews, for the press, and for a very short while, Yuuri too. It was fake, a plastic smile for faux happiness and Victor is downright baffled as to why the most cheerful person he's ever met is plastering on one right now.

  
  
  


Upon further inspection, the slightest hint of eyebags can be seen, along with eyes that are rimmed with tiredness. It makes a terrible match with the smile of composure he's trying to pass off, and it hits Victor with a stab of sympathy for the younger man, knowing the feeling of wearing a mask for others sake.

  
  
  


“Let me help make it at the very least.”

  
  
  


JJ doesn't say anything, just gives a small smile with a warmth leaking through the faux one; it's progress. They cook in a somewhat comfortable silence, it's only broken whenever Victor has to ask where something is. It kind of reminds him of the cold quiet mornings in Russia, where Yuuri and he would slowly warm the kitchen in the early hours of the day.

  
  
  


Victor doesn't know how to cook much, usually simple things, so he volunteers to scramble the eggs; he figures it'd be hard to mess that up. Five eggs eggs later and he proves himself wrong; burnt crisps stay stuck on the pan, scraping them off appears futile, and if to make matters worse, the egg carton is now barren.

  
  
  


“Yuuri always made it look easy,” Victor grumbles, scrubbing the frying pan desperately before deciding it'd probably benefit both him and the pan if he just lets it soak.

  
  
  


“Don't worry, you just forgot to spray the pan is all.” JJ swings open a cabinet, scanning through the contents before shutting them with a huff. “Looks like we're out of spray-oil. I suppose that doesn't really matter since there's no eggs to spray for anyways,” he says with a lighthearted shrug.

  
  
  


“Good thing I'm about to drive to the market then. How about you come with me?” The two men turn their heads at the sound of a new voice.

  
  
  


Alain Leroy is by the doorway, jacket and baseball cap on, scooting through past his son and grabbing a keychain from a hook hanging in the dining room.

  
  
  


The crestfallen look on JJ’s face returns, like the light of a candle snubbed. It's quickly slated over with a weaker than before smile. “I think I'll stay home.”

  
  
  


“Fresh air will do you good,” Alain insists, his smile attempting to replace any shine that his son had lost.

  
  
  


“I'm fine, really, and I was out all day yesterday.”

  
  
  


“You can never be out too much. Come on, I'll buy you those apple candies you like.” he tries again, but it seems his offer isn't going to be taken.

  
  
  


JJ un-sticks his hands where they rested on the countertop in favor of keeping them occupied by attempting to scrub the soaking frying pan. Then, he adds, “Bella and I were going to video chat later.”

  
  
  


The air feels stale, and there's a noticeable tension within it. Or maybe it's just Victor that's feeling tension.

  
  
  


Alain’s face softens, the lines on his forehead smoothing out. “JJ, don't worry, we'll only be out for twenty minutes, I'm sure you won't miss the call of anything.”

  
  
  


Victor feels stuck in the middle; awkward as the two have a whole conversation with him standing five feet away. He can feel his stance wilt. Maybe he should excuse himself. Or just try to slip out unnoticed and go back to cuddling Yuuri in their guestroom. Both options sound good.

  
  
  


“Oh! What if Victor goes with you?” The water makes a splashing sound as the pan is abandoned in the sink. Victor is snapped out of his mental debate on escape, only to unintentionally gape and let out a confused “huh?”

  
  
  


The younger man stares at him intently, grin plastered on him.

  
  
  


Victor knows he should think up an excuse.“I-I wouldn't want to impose.” Was that a stutter? The last time he remembers ever doing that was in his juniors.

  
  
  


There are arms on his shoulders then, along with a coaxing push. “Nonsense! Dad doesn't mind. Plus, you can get more of that tea from last night! It's the same shop; they have really great teas!”

  
  
  


Should he decline again? Would that seem rude to JJ? What about his father; would he think Victor would rather not go with him? His head's spinning. He should've slept in. But then again, JJ did seem distraught this morning; maybe he needs space and quietness just like how Yuuri does sometimes. Victor can respect that.

  
  
  


So now Victor finds himself trying to come up with whatever conversation starter that doesn't seem forced and half-assed while sitting quietly in the passenger seat of Alain Leroy’s truck. He comes up short. But at least the soft tunes of some indie song on the radio dilute the silence.

  
  
  


Victor hasn't spoken to Alain much since his arrival, but then again, most of his time has been consumed during this trip, especially during the reunion a couple days ago when Victor conversed with _ every _Leroy member. The only words so far exchanged between the two of them were greetings along the lines of ‘hello,’ ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight.’ So, it's a little awkward to say the least.

  
  
  


“So, how's coaching treating you?”

  
  
  


Victor lets out a silent puff of relief from the broken silence. Normally, he'd have no problem beginning and taking reel of a conversation, but this vacation has been draining his social battery that he didn't even know had to be recharged, so he's thankful to be offered a starter.

  
  
  


“It's been tough, but rewarding too. I still have a lot to learn,” he answers honestly.

  
  
  


Alain hums. “I can imagine, with the intention of competing and coaching in the same season. But, if there's anyone who can do it, it'd be the five time world champ himself.”

  
  
  


Victor slumps against his seat. Although the praise is nice, he wishes he could believe that; wishes he could somehow balance competing, coaching, choreographing. Hell, he still didn't have a semblance of a routine outlined in his head for next season. And to top it all off, the very reason he'd felt guilty for being distracted over, wedding plans. If only he was a five time world champion in getting his life together.

  
  
  


Alain clears his throat and Victor realizes with a somewhat embarrassing horror that he'd mumbled who knows how much of his distress.

  
  
  


Alain’s voice is calm, that of a father and a coach. “No one perfects anything in a day, Victor. Inspiration isn't something you can force.” It makes Victor feel a bit better and helps him momentarily forget the scramble of responsibilities going on in his head.

  
  
  


Alain’s mouth straight-lines for a moment. “I know you've probably heard this a million times from JJ himself, and from Nathalie, but he's really thrilled to have all of you together, not just as competitors.” He inhales through his nose to pause. “With the blunder at Worlds, and then Isabella having to postpone her vacation time, I'm sure his anxiety has been trying to push.”

  
  
  


There's the word, it makes Victor’s body tense. JJ has anxiety? Now that Victor thinks back, he'd mentioned it the night before, when he brought Yuuri tea. Not directly, but still, the quiet expression after saying that he too drinks tea when “these things happen.” And this morning's gloominess too. Hell, he'd even had an anxiety attack at Worlds while Victor stayed quiet in a bathroom stall. Victor thought of himself of observant when it came to anxiety, but now he feels the need to personally identify as a blunderhead.

  
  
  


“But,” Alain interrupts the mental avalanche Victor is experiencing. He looks from his lap at the older man. “I don't think it'll be pushing very hard, not when he has good friends like you bunch.” Alain Leroy’s smile is back, and it's like a warm hug and Victor knows exactly where JJ gets his from.

  
  
  


The air is easier to breathe in now, all tension and scattered thoughts dissolved. Victor thinks back on all of JJ’s kindness and finds every good deed to be a noble act; being a ray of sunshine while having the constant stress of burning nerves can't be an easy feat. He knows that best, ever since Yuuri had carved a little spot for him in his life.

  
  
  


The pleasant atmosphere makes Victor forget that this a was only supposed to be a twenty minute trip to the store. He and Alain get into a debate on whether store-bought anti-rust or just a plain old lemon juice works best for de-rusting skates. It delves into what their respective favorite olympic winter sport besides skating is. So about another twenty minutes of driving has Victor noticing. And he’s just about to point it out, but the sight of the tall glass airport windows coming into view distract him.

  
  
  


What adds more to his confusion is their truck driving towards it.

  
  
  


“Heh, can't wait to get rid of me huh?” Victor jokes, because even though he's confused as all hell, he can't help but keep up the good mood.

  
  
  


“Crap, you've caught onto my plan,” the other quips back, laughing along with Victors chuckles. They're still going in that direction though, and Victor’s curiosity is dying to pull on his own hair to get him to find out just what's happening. Alain must notice the question marks floating around him and he tries to stifle out something between a laugh and a sigh.

  
  
  


“Actually — and don't take this the wrong way, Victor,” His hand rubs the back of his neck, the other on the steering wheel. “JJ was supposed to come on this drive with me, not you.” There's no malice, just kindness with a smidge of embarrassment. It does nothing to quell Victor’s confusion, though.

  
  
  


But it doesn't seem like he needed to question the other man further, not when they pull into the pick up area to spot a face that Victor doesn't recognize at first. But when he does, he understands why Jean-Jacques was supposed to be in his place right now.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


**[08:32]** ** JJ said you went to the market with Alain, do you know when you'll be back? **

  
  
  


**[08:33] ** **We're on our way back now, lapotchka <3 <3 **

  
  
  


**[08:35] ** **Ok. We just finished breakfast but I saved u a plate <3 **

  
  
  


The truck make the groceries (that they eventually did pick up) in the back jump and rustle whenever it goes over a bump in the road or a pothole.

  
  
  


“Texting your fiancé?” asks a voice from the back seat.

  
  
  


“Yep. Shouldn't you be texting yours?” Victor quips light-heartedly.

  
  
  


“That would spoil the surprise,” Alain inputs from behind the wheel. “And you told him you were going to video chat with him today? That would've definitely spoil it for sure, Isabella.”

  
  
  


The woman gave a slight chuckle. “I wasn't really thinking when I'd agreed with him on that, but in my defense, being on a thirteen hour flight doesn't really make way for much sleep.”

  
  
  


“Boy, I hear that,” Victor agrees. He's only officially met her thirty minutes ago, but Victor finds he likes Isabella Yang.

  
  
  


“I know JJ had said the person to win gold at the GPF was to get married first, but it goes to show he was just joking,” Isabella nudges him.

  
  
  


“Well, Yurio ended up stealing gold from both of our fiancés, so maybe he's the one we should be wedding planning for,” Victor jests.

  
  
  


“Yuri Plisetsky, right? Is he dating that handsome Kazakhstan boy? That's definitely a wedding I'd help plan.”

  
  
  


“I second that,” Alain pipes in. “He sticks to that boy like glue.”

  
  
  


Victor enjoys the banter between the three of them, and he almost hates the fact that they're already pulling into the driveway of the Leroy home.

  
  
  


“Alright, places, everyone!” Alain parks the truck.

  
  
  


“You should've been a theatre teacher instead of a coach, Alain,” Isabella laughs as she unbuckles her seat belt and hops out of the vehicle.

  
  
  


“I've been told I have the voice for it,” he responds. “Victor, help with the groceries, yeah?” Alain asks when he turns to him.

  
  
  


Victor doesn't need to be asked, he's already piling the paper bags in his arms to save himself the trips.

  
  
  


The trio make it about twenty feet from the door before they hear a muffled shout from inside that’s something along the lines of _ “is that?!” _in a panicked hurry, along with rushed footsteps that he can hear from where he's standing.

  
  
  


Then, the front door opens, with the face of JJ looking like he'd run a marathon, but with an expression that Victor always sees on Makkachin whenever he gets back home.

  
  
  


“Bella!” JJ looks like he's about to sprint the short distance between them.

  
  
  


“Might want to hold this for me,” Isabella giggles as if used to this. She hands one of the grocery bags to Victor, adding onto the pile in his arms, and opens her arms to the man dashing toward her stance.

  
  
  


It seems that she's a whole hell of a lot stronger than she looks, considering she barely falters when JJ throws himself into her welcoming hug. Victor even thinks he sees her lift him off of the ground.

  
  
  


“You're here! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?” JJ sputters in their embrace.

  
  
  


“Surprise,” Isabella answers simply.

  
  
  


It doesn't look like the other cares about any reason why she's here. “I missed you so much!” he sings with a smile and — if Victor looked close enough — droplets on his eyelashes. It's so much different from his monotoned dreariness from this morning and Victor is happy that he's back to himself.

  
  
  


“Victor?” is called from the front door of the house, the dark blue of the framed glasses peeking to see what all of the commotion is.

  
  
  


And — even though it's probably only been an hour since he'd seen his fiancé — Victor finds that he feels how JJ feels right about now, overwhelmed with happiness and burning with the need to hold the one he loves close.

  
  
  


So that's exactly what Victor does when he sprints the rest of the way into the waiting arms of the one waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic took me too long to finish honestly, but with the yoi fandom being in hibernation rn it's been difficult to write. 
> 
> This fic is set in april but u should honestly NOT go ice fishing during the spring, i just needed to add that scene in there for Reasons (tm) if u know, u know

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://pirozhkiparty.tumblr.com/)


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